Vocaloid: Broken Dolls
by Absoltheharbinger
Summary: Henry Parkinson died in Hinamizawa in 1983. So what is he doing, surrounded by these strange people in a facility he cannot leave? Will he cope? Will he ever be accepted? Sequel to my Higurashi no Naku Koro ni self-insert 'Higurashi: Broken Chains arc', but mostly self-contained. It might be an idea to read that first, though. Rated for sex, language, adult themes and violence.
1. Oyashiro sama's Curse

_**Track 1: Oyashiro-sama's Curse**_

He felt … free. He could feel his body flying through some endless void, flying at an unknown speed. He couldn't see anything, though. Something was buffeting past him, but he couldn't tell whether it was air, water or something else entirely.

_What is going on? Is this a dream?_

"Look at this."

The scientist walked across the once-pristine lab. Rust and wear and tear had ruined that image. His colleague was pointing at a complicated computer readout, displaying almost non-sensical data.

"So?"

"Subject CV-08 is travelling faster than any other specimen has. We're not ready for this!"

The scientist looked around the lab. Actually, it was somewhere between a low-budget lab, a service garage and an infirmary. It had had to fulfil all of those roles in its service. There were five stained gurneys in the room. Only one had an occupant; a metallic human torso, chest cavity open and spilling wires and components.

"That we haven't finished is true. How much time do we have?"

"I think about a week at most. Sir, you're not suggesting … the consequences … remember the Ka Incident?"

"Yes, I remember. But that won't happen again. We have more time to finish now. And we're not daft spitting drunk this time."

"But …"

"We'll just have to do the best we can," the first scientist said, pulling a soldering iron from his toolbox.

He felt himself accelerating. It was like he was a magnet; inexplicably drawn towards … something, getting faster as he got closer. He tasted something metallic in his mouth; blood, possibly.

He still couldn't see anything much, save a pinprick of light like a pinprick of a pinprick somewhere that could have been in front or behind him; he wasn't sure anymore.

Was the light pulling him in? Why?

"Time?"

"T-minus thirty seconds. We're not going to finish in time."

"We don't need to. Just the essentials."

The light was bigger now, perhaps as big as a stamp. It seemed to be reaching out to him. He let it. He couldn't think why; he couldn't think about anything anymore. But it seemed like a good idea.

"Five … four … three … two … one!"

The body on the gurney, now a complete human form, vibrated slightly. Its eyes snapped open; ceramic whites and emerald green irises in stark contrast to its hard, bald, overcast grey scalp and deathly gaunt face.

Servos whined in its jaws. And it screamed.

The first scientist was untroubled by the sound; something akin to a steel-cutting buzz-saw. He'd heard it too many times before to be fazed by it. He calmly reached forward, to the still-open chest cavity, flipping a switch deep where the body's heart should have been.

The sound petered to nothing, and the light vanished somewhat from its eyes.

"Sleep now, CV-08. Sleep …" the scientist murmured, before staring at his colleague.

"Time to finish what we started."

CV-08 only got its power restored a few days later. Now it was covered in a realistic (if unnaturally pale) silicone-rubber flesh, a long sheet of emerald hair to match its eyes, and a most bizarre outfit.

Its clothes consisted of a black sleeveless t-shirt, dark grey, baggy trousers was two seemingly luminous emerald-green bands around the ends of the legs and a single dot on each knee. Its shoulders were bare, but its wide, flaring sleeves started about halfway up from its elbows, following the customary black-and-emerald colour-scheme. It also wore a voluminous black cloak with green circuitboard-inspired patterns along the trim, pinned at the left shoulder with a chrome brooch. It also wore black on-ear headphones with green details and a grey fur hat with a raccoon tail. Its hair and cloak were arranged so that the left-hand side of its face and it right arm were hidden from view.

CV-08's visible eye slid open almost lazily, like a cat. It could see that it was in the grottiest little hospital ward you ever did see; a drab room of white and black décor that smelled too strongly of antiseptic. It tried to move its head, but couldn't.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

Its eye stared at the source of the voice. A scientist with a clipboard, oil and other fluids smudged into his lab coat.

"De-activating locking sequence," declared an empty, synthetic voice, and it felt its body no longer felt so stiff. CV-08 sat up.

"I don't think you should be doing that," the scientist reprimanded. "We need to make sure you're all okay first."

"What do you want to know?" CV-08 had never spoken before, but the sound of its voice stirred something deep inside its silicon mind …

"Let's start simple; how many fingers am I holding up?" The scientist held up his hand.

CV-08 stared, as though this was a daft question. "Three."

"Close; it was four."

"You are holding up three fingers; the fourth digit is a thumb, and doesn't count."

The scientist frowned but wrote something down on his clipboard. He muttered as he wrote, and CV-08 could hear him say 'Pedantic tendencies. Possible OCD'.

"I hope you know that I'm not obsessive-compulsive," CV-08 intoned dangerously.

"That'll be for us to decide."

He made CV-08 answer simple questions, perform motor tasks, the full works. CV-08 felt as though it should have just woken up from coma. To be fair, though, it couldn't remember when it had last _been_ awake.

"Do you remember," the scientist asked gravely, "where and on what date you died?"

CV-08 felt as though it had been clouted in the stomach. It remembered something of its old life. "Hinamizawa, June 23rd I think. I can't remember the year." CV-08's head suddenly caught up with it. "Hang on; did you just say I _died_?"

"Yes. Don't let it upset you."

"I _died_."

"That's what I said."

"So why am I still talking and seeing things?"

"I also said don't let it upset you."

"Is this the afterlife?"

"Do you believe in it?"

"No."

"Then just tell yourself you got better. Do you remember your name?"

It strained its mind. Nothing could be dredged to the surface.

"No."

"Well, I'll tell you what: just call yourself 8 until you think of anything better. Or remember your real name."

8 looked at his bare shoulder, seeing the numbers '08' stamped just above the upper hem of the sleeve. _What an imaginative name_. "What do I do now? Are you done with me?"

"Yes. Go to the rec room. Ask someone to give you the tour."

"Rec room?"

"Go down the corridor, third on the left. By the way, leave your right arm and hair alone."

"Why?"

"Just leave them, okay?"

"Whatever," said 8, getting off the gurney and almost immediately falling over.

"Steady on," the scientist said, tutting and helping it up. "It'll take you a little while to get used to your legs again; you've been out for a while."

"Thanks," it … _he _replied, limping slowly and drunkenly to the door.

He could hear bickering coming from the room; not an argument, but childish bickering. It must be the rec room.

8 was posed with a new problem, however. The door. It had no lock, handle or discernible hinges. Just a blank metallic surface. He pushed at either end. He kicked it. He inspected the featureless plane.

Eventually, he yelled at it to 'open, damn you'. The door slid into the wall to the right somewhat grudgingly, as though it would rather keep him out.

The room looked like an average school common room. Abandoned plates and fast-food containers rested haphazardly on most of the flat surfaces that didn't already have something on. Old-fashioned arcade machines stood imperiously at the outskirts of the room. The walls were drab, but smothered in ancient score-charts, a washing-up rota that was completely devoid of any indication that anyone had noticed it, and an ancient dartboard surrounded by dart-holes, its surface as pitted as the surface of the moon. A large, plasma-screen television stood against one wall, with various games consoles arrayed on the shelf beneath it. A battered old sofa was placed facing the television, but there were other tables around the large room, with various card games left scattered over them.

There were four people playing a games console hooked up to the TV, playing split-screen on some shoot-em-up 8 vaguely recognised, though he was sure he'd never seen such a game before. The other occupants of the room were perched around the sofa, shouting encouragement at the gamers. None seemed to have noticed the new arrival.

The gamers were an incredibly odd bunch, too. One seemed to be a man in his early twenties with slicked brown hair who looked as though his head had been cleft open and badly stapled back together. Another was a blonde girl barely in her teens. The third was a tall guy with a long white coat, with blue hair and scarf. The last was a pink-haired girl … _woman_ wearing mostly black and gold leather and with an _octopus_ perched on her head. 8 had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn't imagining it. He wasn't. It actually looked for all the world like a chibi version of the woman's head, but its hair turned into tentacles at the base of what should have been its skull. If it had one. It was rather unsettling. All were bickering about the game in a bizarre amalgam of what sounded like Japanese and English.

"What the hell, Al?" shouted the pink-haired woman, who seemed to have died.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Where'd you get the grav hammer, you cheating bastard?"

"It's a random weapon spawn."

"So how come you always get it, huh?"

"Luka," said the blonde girl without taking her eyes off the screen. Actually, it sounded more like 'Ruka'; the girl had a very strong Japanese accent. She promptly scored a perfect headshot on what looked like a soldier in blue armour and a motocross helmet, much to the other player's distaste.

'Al' promptly snuck up behind her (she seemed to be playing as an alien in gold armour) and struck her down with what looked like a cross between a halberd and a sledgehammer.

The girl, naturally, was not amused. "Al, you team-killing, useless piece of [Japanese profanity 8 didn't understand]! I'll get you for that!"

"Too late," said Al gleefully. "Game over." And so it was.

Luka cuffed him round the ear. "Cheating son of a …" she was cut off by the octopus-thing blowing a loud raspberry at him. The octopus swivelled around and looked right at 8. Its face was human, but it looked just like an anime character brought to life. It waved a tentacle at him cheerfully, smiling with an expression that looked cheerful, but should not be feasible. 8 waved tentatively back.

The octopus' interest sparked that of the others, who all turned to stare at the newcomer. 8 felt awfully self-conscious.

"Uh … hi?"

The temperature of the room seemed to drop.

"I'm 8, apparently."

"Great," hissed Al. "A newbie."

8 didn't know what to say. "I … I was told that one of you need to give me the tour."

One, a girl a bit younger than him with teal pigtails as long as she was tall, sighed, and strode over to a desk, grabbing a fistful of straws from the drawer. "Right; Engloids over here."

Several of the members, including Luka and Al, sighed in exasperation and gathered around her. They each drew a straw as though this was very old hat. Luka drew the short straw, much to her annoyance and the others' delight. She strode towards him with as much dignity as she could muster, dumping the octopus on the head of the teal-haired girl.

"Might as well make the most of it," she muttered. She reached the door, standing next to 8. He was easily a few inches taller than her, but it seemed irrelevant; he could just as well have been a few inches tall, period. "Well, let's get going."

"Have fun," called Al sarcastically, as they left the room. Luka responded by flipping her middle finger at him for the last few seconds her hand was visible from the sofa.

"Sorry about that," she said. Her voice was mature, dark and mysterious. "We usually end up arguing about who has to look after the newbs, so we draw straws. It's nothing personal."

"Charming," 8 replied.

"So what's your name?"

"8."

"No; what's your _name_?"

"Dunno; can't remember."

Luka thumbed a button to call down the elevator. "We're gonna start from the top down, okay?"

"Whatever," said 8.

"About the name; don't worry too much. It'll come back to you soon enough."

There was a ping, and the doors to the lift opened. Luka strode in, 8 followed soon after.

Nearly every culture in the universe has some form of inherent lift behaviour. One of the most common is the 'don't speak, don't make eye contact' variant. And that is the one that 8 and Luka took up during their journey. The lifts were just like the ones he'd always ridden; boring.

He began to think about what the scientist had said. Why shouldn't he use his right arm? Was there something wrong with it? It was swathed in his cloak, so he didn't think anything of it.

They came out in a large, circular room, covered with a glass dome. The floor was a matt bronze colour, with plush, chocolate coloured leather sofas and futons. 8 looked out at the view; the ground seemed dizzyingly far below. Was he at the top of a tower or something?

There was something wrong with the ground. It was a dense grey carpet of concrete and steel for a good distance, but beyond that? Brown. Brown mud and dust as far as the eye could see. The sunlight seemed too bright, and the sky was dyed a bizarre nicotine yellow.

"We call this the inspiration room. We come here to think if we get mental block or whatever." Luka sounded bored, like she'd seen this room too many times to actually care.

"Nice place."

"It _is_ nice at night. You wait, this is easily the classiest room on site."

The lift back down was as uneventful as the way up. 8 discreetly looked at Luka. She wore a sleeveless black leather top with gold trim, a black skirt in the same style but cut up the waist up her left leg. She wore some kind of brass ornament on her chest that put him in mind of the valves of some bizarre instrument. She also wore gold leather armbands, and on her right arm, a gold sleeve like his own, but with chocolate-brown trim. Her boots were knee-high, high-heeled and made of gold leather. Luka's eyes were a deep ocean blue, hair long, rose-pink and straight. She looked like she would have been quite a heartbreaker. So what was she doing in this grotty little place, playing video games and seemingly bored out of her mind?

That's when he saw it; either stamped or tattooed on her left shoulder was two digits.

03.

What did it mean?

He had too many questions.

Luka showed him most of the site; the management offices, the dorms, the library, the rec room, the infirmary. But there was one place she hadn't taken him; the large button in the lift marked B1.

"What's in the basement?"

"Why'd you ask?"

"Because it seems we don't need a key or anything to get down there. There must be something."

"There is, but that's for tomorrow; no more time today. Not if you want to eat as well."

She led him to the canteen. It was like pretty much every other school canteen he'd seen; a drab off-white room filled with eight-man tables and benches. They queued up at the self-service bar. Other people were getting food, swiping cards across the scanner with practised ease.

"We get our food, and swipe the card to say we've eaten. We're only given a set amount of credit every fortnight."

"I don't have a card."

"Take it out of my tab."

"I don't want to put you out of your way."

Luka laughed heartily. "I've got to at least _pretend_ to be nice to you. Go on; choose something."

8 chose a salad. You can't go far wrong with salad.

Luka helped herself to a small bowl of rice and tuna, grabbing a pair of chopsticks as she did so.

"Move it!" shouted someone behind him, shoving 8 forwards. He didn't bother to see who it was, but a dark shadow fell over his eyes. He just followed Luka to a table like a lost puppy.

"Hey, Luka!" called the teal-haired girl, waving at them from an empty table in the middle of the canteen. "Over here!"

They sat down. 8 stared somewhat mournfully at his salad. Now he looked at it, it seemed limp and unappetising. He picked up his fork and put a couple of the bedraggled leaves in his mouth. They tasted bitter and soggy and chemical. He grimaced.

"I know it's bad, mate, but it's all there is," cooed the girl, rubbing his arm. "What's wrong with him?" she asked Luka.

"He's already got in Ritsu's bad books, and it's his first day."

"That cow; she can be a right bitch sometimes."

"I thought Namine Ritsu was a guy."

8 looked up. "Who?"

The girl and Luka pointed at a tall person in an elaborate maroon gown and wearing a little black top hat.

"She's a _guy_?" 8 asked incredulously. Ritsu dressed like a woman, looked like a woman, and now he remembered had the _voice_ of a woman. "She's only fooling herself."

"What, are you gonna check?" asked Luka seriously, arching a perfect eyebrow.

8 pushed the wilted salad to one side and lay his head on the table. Today was not turning out to be a good day.

"Cheer up, kid," said the girl, though she was clearly younger than him. "What's your name?"

"Don't have one," the table murmured.

"He hasn't remembered it yet," explained Luka, popping a clod of rice in her mouth.

"Well, I'm Miku," the girl said to 8. "Hatsune Miku."

8 looked up. Miku was wearing a grey sleeveless shirt and a teal tie, a short, pleated black skirt and a pair of those sleeves that nearly everyone wore. Her boots were knee-high and also black. She wore a sleek pair of black plastic headphones with soft magenta lighting. Her eyes were large and childish and somehow endearing, and a strong shade of teal.

"You're Hatsune?"

"No, my name is Miku. We're on an informal name basis here."

8 reminded himself of the Japanese name system quickly. He would have to remember it if he was going to fit in.

"Sorry about earlier," said Miku, munching on an onigiri. "In the rec room. The guys don't really trust newbies."

"Thanks, that makes me feel so much better," 8 said sarcastically. "I just wish I knew where we are and what is happening."

"Don't worry about it," said Miku, waving it away. "They'll explain everything in due course."

"Who will?"

"Oh, just _them_," said Luka. It was miraculous how nonchalant and at once final she could sound. "Oh well; if you want to fit in, you'd best learn some names." She pointed out the blonde girl from the rec room. "That's Rin. She may look young, but she's a mean Halo player and can swear like a sailor when she's angry. She's a bit of a firebrand, but she's nice enough."

Miku and Luka began to point out more and more people, but 8 was finding it hard to keep up. One person did catch his eye, though; a white-haired woman slumped on a table by herself.

"Who's that?"

"Her?" asked Luka. "Don't worry about her. Look at the time! Come on; I've got to show you where you're sleeping."

"Kaito!" Luka shouted through the crush of tired bodies all trying to get in the lift at the same time. 8 frowned in puzzlement. Who's Kaito?

His question was answered when the other Halo player fought through the crowd. He was a bit older than Luka, but it was hard to tell exactly how old he was. As he had noted before, Kaito wore a knee-length white coat with sea-blue trim, a scarf the colour of a summer sky, brown trousers with a single yellow stripe running down the side of each leg. He wore white trainers and clutched in his fist was a half-eaten ice-cream.

"'Sup, Luka? This the newbie?" he asked, slightly suspiciously.

"Yeah. Don't ask his name, he can't remember yet. 8, this is Shion Kaito."

"Hi," managed 8 with a small wave.

"He hasn't got a dorm yet. Can he share with you for tonight?"

Kaito licked the ice-cream thoughtfully. 8 caught a whiff of strawberry. "I haven't got a bunk for you, 8. But I could arrange a futon. It may not be too comfy, but it'll do for a night."

"Thanks," said 8 gratefully, not realising just how tired he really was. His whole body felt old as the hills. It felt like really bad jet lag.

"No sweat. We may not trust newbies too much here, but we look out for each other. You are one of us, I take it?"

8 showed him the strange code stamped on his left shoulder. "This good enough for you?"

Kaito nodded. "Come on; the crowd's thinning."

8 lay awake long after his room-mate had started snoring. He lay on his back, thinking about things. Who were these people? Where was he? Why was he even _here_?

He wanted to go for a walk to clear his mind. He'd tried the door, but it was shut fast. Luka had explained that most of the doors were touch-sensitive and that his 'signature' would be sufficient, as he was now on the system.

It seemed that, however, the door wouldn't open. It was probably because it was Kaito's room and not his. So he lay there, trying to let sleep claim him.

"It's not working, is it?" asked a voice somewhere out of sight.

8 sat up, nearly jumping out of his skin. He was still dressed in his day clothes, the cloak wrapped tight around him; the air con seemed to be on full blast.

"Who's there?" he asked, realising for the first time that his voice sounded … odd.

"That's irrelevant. I need you to come with me."

"How? We can't get out."

"That won't be an issue," said the voice with a cold chuckle, and 8 saw the room dissolve into a void around them.

"Where are you taking me?" asked 8, slightly worried.

"Back," was all the voice had to say. 8 tried to look around, to catch a glimpse of his mysterious companion. But there was nothing around him.

Suddenly, colour returned to his world, and 8 fell over as land appeared beneath his feet. Not the steel tread-plate floor of wherever he had been, but hard, compacted dirt. Tall, leafy trees stood imperiously on either side of the path, and there was a haunting silence in the air.

"Where are we?"

"Head up the road," said the voice. "You'll soon realise where you are."

"I must be dreaming," 8 muttered, biting his tongue. The pain was all too real.

"It is a dream," replied the voice. "But does that make it any less real?"

8 soon reached the top of the hill. There seemed to be a large stone sitting area in front of him, and a huge, ancient building to his left. On his right, a tall stone torii, a frayed rope still tied to its cross-beam.

"This is … the Furude shrine." 8 gasped. "I'm in Hinamizawa."

Something was wrong. The higurashi were not chirping in the forest. Sirens and muffled conversations could be heard far below. He ran to the balcony. Searchlights and torches glinted like fireflies on a carpet of inky darkness.

"When is this?" he asked the voice, turning round before he remembered that there was nobody there.

"About two days after you left."

"After I … who are you, anyway?"

The voice seemed to hesitate. "I am Oyashiro."

8 felt as though something hard had walloped him. He remembered; the village, the deity, the fabled curse. "What happened here?"

"I could tell you; I saw it all unfold. But it would be easier for me to show you."

The scenery dissolved again, re-forming almost instantly. He stood in front of a long, two-storey building with several sheds scattered around the large grounds. 8 recognised it as the village school.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"I'll explain inside."

8 saw a handful of people in hazmat suits and gas-masks standing around outside the door, and a couple more milling in and out.

"Won't they mind?"

"They can't see, hear or perceive you or I."

8 wandered down the lonely corridor. A hazmat guy wandered past him, and 8 instinctively backed out of the way. He walked into the old classroom with a clipboard in his hands.

"Go in," Oyashiro commanded him. 8 hardly felt able to refuse.

He immediately regretted his decision. Arrayed on the floor and around the walls were dozens of bodies. It looked at first as though there had been some sort of mass drinking party; heads were lolling drunkenly, and everyone seemed unconscious.

"Hey, boss," shouted one of the suited men behind 8. "Found this one hiding in the toilets." He tossed something heavy, like a sack of potatoes, on the floor and clumped out.

8 looked around. He was staring at a face he once knew. He dropped to his knees, staring at the person, unable to believe it.

Their shoulder-length ginger hair was a mess, as though they'd been running their hands through it violently. Thin trails of spit and foamy blood ran from their gaping mouth, soaking into their flowing white dress. What was most horrifying was her eyes; once sparkling sapphires of life, now frozen, empty, barren.

It was Ryūgū Rena. And it was clear the she was not unconscious. She was dead. All of the bodies were.

8 began to hyperventilate, too shocked to speak. His eyes flicked from corpse pile to corpse pile. A green ponytail he recognised as Mion's. Chie-sensei's blank, pained face. Several other people he knew from the school.

"Too shocking for you?" asked Oyashiro, in a strangely concerned manner. The room dissolved, and they were back at the Furude shrine.

"About three hours ago, at the stroke of midnight, the disaster struck. Most of the villagers died in their beds. They tried to get their children to the school, hoping that the remote location would be safe. They were all wrong." Oyashiro sniffed slightly. _Sniffed?_ Gods didn't sniffle, did they?

"What was the cause? The curse?"

Oyashiro actually laughed childishly. "You think the curse of Oyashiro-sama did this?" it asked mockingly. "You think _I_ did this? The curse is a legend, created by someone who wished so dearly to be me."

A body faded into view in from of him. It looked like a twelve-year-old girl, with long lilac hair, a red-and-white miko's kimono, and childish features. She would have looked almost normal, were it not for the small black horns jutting from her skull, pointing down and looking like shiny spaniel ears at a glance.

8 was stunned. "_You_ are Oyashiro-sama?"

The girl nodded solemnly. "It is a curse I have to live with."

8 looked her up and down. She reminded him of someone he used to know from Hinamizawa. _Who was it again? R … Ri … Rika! That was it!_

The girl … _Oyashiro_ nodded, as though she knew what he was thinking. "Never wondered why little Rika was considered the reincarnation of me?"

"Hang on; you said _re_incarnation. You were human once, too."

"Weren't we all? All we have is our names when we die."

"I can't remember mine … wait, am I dead?"

Oyashiro shook her head. "Not dead. Just not alive."

"So what's your name?"

"Hanyuu," she said quietly. "Come on; there's more I need to show you."

"I don't want to know."

"But Henry …"

8 snapped awake in an instant, staring into the face of Shion Kaito, who was gripping his shoulders.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You were writhing and thrashing and mumbling in your sleep.

"I'm fine Kaito. Don't worry."

8 woke up early the next morning; though he didn't know until he saw the clock on Kaito's bedside table (no window). 7:12. He'd been thinking about that strange dream, of Hinamizawa and the mysterious Hanyuu. And that name … Henry. He remembered now. That was his name as a human. Henry Parkinson.

He rested his head on the cool metal door. He hoped that it wasn't real, what happened in Hinamizawa after he 'left'. The expression on their faces wasn't something he was easily going to forget.

He rested his hand on the door, surprised as it slid open at his touch, nearly tearing his forehead off with it. The corridor looked as drab as ever, but something caught his eye. The strange octopus from yesterday was shuffling down the corridor, using its tentacles as rudimentary legs, and clutching a pot of chocolate mousse.

Henry stared at it for a while, before deciding that he hadn't slept enough.

The door slid shut as he went back to bed. The octopus, for its part, was oblivious to the whole proceeding, shuffling away and humming contentedly.


	2. Vocaloid

_**Track 2: Vocaloid**_

"Morning, 8," said Miku cheerfully, when she saw him trudge into the cafeteria half an hour later. He couldn't quite fathom _what_ the weird octopus thing was, but it was probably a figment of his imagination.

"Morning, Miku," he mumbled, sitting down. He placed his cup of tea (black, two sugars, a dash of cold water) on the table, and started munching uninterestedly on his piece of toast.

"Do they know you got that?"

"No."

"That's stealing. You didn't pay for it." Despite this, Miku was trying not to giggle.

"I didn't want Luka to have to pay for me to eat again. You saw how little she got yesterday."

Miku really did laugh this time; a pleasant, almost child-like that would probably have made small children willing to abandon their mothers. Miku seemed to have an inherently high level of charisma. "I wouldn't worry about it, 8; she always eats that much."

"No wonder she stays so damn thin. By the way, I remembered my real name. It's Henry Parkinson."

"Henry … interesting name. What does it mean?"

He noticed that Miku pronounced it hay-n-lee. "Dunno. Should it mean something?"

"My parents called me Miku. It means 'future'."

"And a nice name it is too. I s'pose it'll help me remember it."

"So, what're you doing today?" Miku asked, seeming incredibly like that Ryūgū Rena he once knew.

"Luka's taking me to the basement floor, then I need to go to admin for something."

"Sounds boring enough," she said, but her eyes sparkled.

Henry let his gaze wander round the room. There were dozens of faces here; mostly scientists or cleaners and so on, but occasionally someone so outlandishly dressed they could only be one of this weird, enigmatic clique.

"What is it you do here?"

Miku wagged her finger at him in mock reprimand. "Can't tell you that. Luka's your guide, not me."

Henry let his gaze wander again. He recognised a couple of faces. Al was in a heated argument with the blonde girl Whatsername … Rin. A blonde boy who looked a lot like Rin spotted Miku sitting with a random guy in a raccoon hat, and walked over to investigate.

"Morning, Miku-nee-chan," he called.

"Len-chan!" Miku cried, jumping up and wrapping her arms around him endearingly. 'Len-chan', for his part, looked mortified, turning bright red. He shot a pleading look at Henry.

"Miku, you're being embarrassing again," he said in a tired way, as though this was very old.

"I can't help it, Len-chan," she said in the voice one uses when talking to small children. "You're just so damn _kawaii_!"

"I think Rin can see us."

"Point taken," said Miku, suddenly serious, unwrapping herself from him as quickly as she could and sitting back down.

'Len-chan' pulled a banana from his pocket, unpeeling it as he spoke. "She keeps doing that," he said to Henry. "She knows it annoys me."

Miku pouted. Henry said nothing.

It seemed the blonde hadn't noticed anyway. "You're the new kid, right? I'm Kagamine Len."

"Henry Parkinson. Are you related to Rin or something?"

"Yeah, she's my twin sister. I'm the sensible one, she's the hothead."

"Of course," Henry replied. Luka sat down next to him.

"This popular with the girls already?" asked Len, grinning and biting into the banana.

"Shut up," said Henry. He remembered someone else saying that, once upon a time … another life ago, it felt like.

"Hey, 8," said Luka. "Ready to find out what we do here?"

Henry turned the face her. "Please don't call me that. I'm Henry."

"Henry, huh? Anyway, you ready?"

"Sure," said Henry, swigging down his now-lukewarm tea. He didn't care; it was hard to mess up a good cup of tea. Or even an average cup of tea at that; he preferred _them_. Easier to make. "Let's roll."

He stood up, and his cloak shifted a little. Not a lot, but enough to see a dull, gunmetal grey flash where his right arm should be. _Clothes don't flash like that_.

They left the cafeteria, Henry trailing slightly behind Luka. They had to wait for a lift again. When it arrived, the white-haired woman staggered out, barely conscious and clearly in a state of disarray. She bumped into Henry as she walked past, eyes unfocussed. She turned to look at him, blushing profusely. The woman (he now realised, not much older than himself) mumbled an apology, bowing slightly, and ran as fast as she could.

"Who was that?"

"Her? Don't worry about her."

"She didn't seem well."

"I said don't worry. She'll be fine."

Henry nodded. Luka must know better than he did. But he was intrigued; who was that mysterious albino, whom nobody seemed to pay any heed to?

Luka walked into the elevator. Henry rubbed his face, suddenly feeling a little tired. Then he realised. It was his right hand. The one the doctor guy told him explicitly _not_ to use. It didn't take long to see why.

He drew his entire arm from the depths of the cloak, eyes wide open in horror. Metal. His whole arm was made of _metal_. Delicate little servos whirred and clicked as he moved his claw-like fingers. Expertly crafted motors and pneumatics drove his elbow, and there was a sickening, clockwork beauty to the mechanism of his wrist.

"Luka … what's happened to my arm …?"

Luka turned. She stared from his hand to his horrified face and back to the hand. "Err …"

Henry's horror turned to rage. What had happen to him? What had _they_ done to him?! He gripped a narrow piece of casing that ran from his elbow to his wrist, tearing it off unceremoniously. A jagged, knife-like piece of metal.

He stabbed it into that dull, dead, grey hand, forcing it from side to the other without even flinching. Now it was Luka's turn to look horrified.

"What are you doing to yourself? Stop it!" she ordered.

"Oh yeah?" said Henry grimly, inspecting his reflection in the plate metal. It looked like someone had soldered three wires to his face; fixed below his right eye, and converging into one around his cheek before vanishing under his chin. He looked away, unable to stand the sight of his own face any longer. He dug his claws into the flesh of his other arm, ripping off a strip of unhealthily pallid flesh. No blood spilled from him, though. He grabbed the sliver of metal, unable to contain himself any longer. He raised it, staring down the length of it at Luka.

"How easy d'you think it'll be to break these eyes?" Henry asked manically, sanity slipping ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry, Henry," said Luka solemnly, unzipping her top slightly and drawing something from her cleavage. "This is for your own good."

Before he could do anything, she charged at him, jabbing the taser into his chest and unleashing 10,000 volts of oblivion on him.

Henry awoke later that afternoon. The first thing he saw was Luka. And she did _not_ look amused.

"What is wrong with you? Were you _trying_ to kill yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"Henry, you were about to stab yourself into the eye. The doctors are thankful I stopped you."

Henry's ire began to rise again. "Why didn't you tell me?" He sat up. The damage to his body was fixed, but his right arm was still fleshless. "I'm not a human anymore, am I?"

Luka sighed and sat down on the gurney next to his. Her body language told him clearly that she was hoping it wouldn't come to this. "I s'pose I'm going to have to come clean, now. No, you're not human. None of us are. Me, Miku … we haven't been human for a _long_ time." She actually looked genuinely sorry for herself … for him. "We're Vocaloids."

"Vocaloids?"

"It's time I gave you a quick history lesson," she said solemnly, as though she was worrying about this moment.

"Let's start in the early twenty-first century. After Kyoto and Copenhagen, it was clear that it was all a bad joke. The environment was crashing down around their ears, and oil was drastically running dry. It looked like the end.

"Then some mega-corporations began to work to create the new world; a world that could not only fix the problems of the old world, but sustain it. It seemed ideal; these companies had so much revenue floating around they were able to fund the research. The public began to invest interest, the governments of the world money grants."

"Let me guess," said Henry. "It all went to hell."

"Not quite. Actually, far from it. Technology sky-rocketed … and that wasn't all. Space became another big objective. If they couldn't save Gaia, as it was renamed, they would find another suitable planet to move to. But there were also vast quantities of fuel and semi-precious minerals in space. It soon became economically viable to travel that far.

"Then comes the catch; Near-Gaia traffic began to grow as space stations and hotels began to be built. Everyone wanted their own slice of orbitspace. That started the Orbit Wars."

"Orbit Wars?"

"Yeah," said Luka sadly. "Mind you, what started with enterprise soon became little more than a bid to create orbit-to-Gaia weaponry. And so the battles raged. This was about the early 23rd century. In the end, we ended up with dozens of spacecraft in Near-Gaia orbit, and not enough revenue to keep them funded. Governments toppled. The mega-corporations took their place. But it was only borrowed time. The Orbit Wars ended without a winner; each side was exhausted of resources. One hundred and seventy years of war, and nothing came from it.

"It was soon clear that Gaia was dying. The greed of the companies killed it. So much for 'a new world'," she spat.

"So what happened?"

"Most of the corporations gave up, hoping to obliterate the human race and end their misery. They fired off all of their nukes. Every single one."

"Nukes?" Henry asked. "If this is about 2400, surely they must have had deadlier weapons? Neutron bombs or slipspace devices or something?"

Luka laughed coldly. "You've been reading too much sci-fi. No, nukes were deemed deadly enough. Or so they thought. The human race was decimated, but not destroyed. One of the survivors was The Company."

"What company?"

"_The_ Company; one of the mega-corporations that used to run the planet. The board members were hidden in a bunker from the Cold War."

"I remember hearing about that, actually. Didn't they build loads of bunkers that never got used?"

Luka nodded. "The board decided to clutch onto whatever they could to retain power. They exploited the corruption of the human race. Literally. The nuclear fallout had an … _interesting_ effect on them."

"Interesting?" asked Henry, involuntarily shuddering as images of grotesque, disfigured people filled his mind. _Maybe Luka's got a point about the whole sci-fi thing_.

"All living people who work here are regular humans, don't worry. But the entire species, over the generations, had lost something very potent. Rhythm."

"What? They lost _rhythm_?"

"Don't ask me how; I'm no geneticist. But mankind has no innate sense of rhythm, rhyme or music. They can recognise, yes, but not create. That's where we come in.

"I'll put it blunt. We're biologically dead. Our bodies are dust in the wind. But our minds, from when we were human, are very much alive. That is why you remember your old life."

"How?" Henry was out of his depth here.

"Well … y'know eels? They used to swim to the Sargasso Sea every year to mate, only to swim back to their rivers and lakes after. What's interesting is that the offspring, when they hatch, can effortlessly find their way back to _the same lakes_, despite having never been there. You catch my drift?"

"Sorta …"

"The Company played on that principle. They would go back in time, find a child, and implant a device in their brains just after birth."

"That's sick."

"The parents and midwives never know. The child never even realises. They would grow up with the device as their conscious mind."

"Why would they do that?"

"The device harvests a lifetime's worth of social mannerisms, language, emotions and, most importantly, music. When the 'seeded' person dies, the data is packaged and sent into the tachyon stream. The time stream, if you will. Like our eels, the data package travels through the time stream to The Company's waiting arms. The data is fed into a mechanical body, which continues to 'live'.

"Naturally, the process isn't flawless. Sometimes the data arrives too soon, when the body isn't quite ready to accommodate a human mind. This happened to you; they still needed to grow the rest of your flesh for your arm and face. There was an incident before I arrived, known as the Ka Incident. They completely screwed _that_ one up.

"The device may be damaged. Extreme head trauma may cause that kind of damage, and so the data will not get sent. Also, if the host has extensive brain surgery, the device may be found and will self-destruct as a safety precaution if one tries to remove it from the brain tissue.

"The last is the most common, but the most rectifiable. The device _will_ kill the host, sooner or later."

Henry was stunned. Not only had a device from the future been implanted in his head, but it had killed him, too?

Luka looked into his eyes sympathetically. She'd been through this, too. Miku told her. "If you like, I can shut up. I've said enough already."

"No," Henry said firmly. "I must know."

Luka nodded. "You know I said that the device became your conscience? I meant it; it would suppress the organic mind, dominating your thoughts. But to you, nothing would happen out of the ordinary. It was the mind you grew up with, your metaphorical heart and soul. It was _you_. At least, that was the ideal.

"Around the middle of puberty, maybe earlier, maybe later, the organic mind would revolt against the device. The exact symptoms vary. Maybe psychosis would develop; you would kill your friends or family. Maybe you'll turn schizophrenic and hear voices. Maybe you'll get multiple personality disorder. Maybe you'll be the unlucky bastard who gets all of these and more. Anyway, the host will often commit suicide, lose the will to live, or be killed by another. Every one of us, as far as I know, died young. Death is a touchy subject here."

Luka glanced at the clock. It was just gone four in the afternoon. "Now you've calmed down, can I take you downstairs? I can show you why The Company wants us."

"So, where does this lift go?"

"You'll see."

They were in the lift, on the way to the basement floor. It seemed harmless enough, so why did he feel apprehensive?

"I was going to show you after breakfast," Luka continued, seemingly to no-one in particular. "Before it got busy. Then you went ballistic, and I had to carry you to the infirmary. You weigh less than you think, by the way."

"Oh," said Henry vaguely, unsure whether this was a criticism or a compliment.

The lift shaft suddenly turned from metal to glass. Henry could see that they were heading down the wall of a cavernous room. Deep purple seats fanned out from a large stage. There must have been room for several hundred in the place.

"A theatre?"

"Better," Luka replied enigmatically.

Something twigged in his mind. Something Luka had said.

_The device harvests a lifetime's worth of social mannerisms, language, emotions and, most importantly, music._

"It's a concert hall?"

"Bingo," she replied.

The lift shaft didn't stop there, however. It continued through the floor. The doors slid open, revealing a bustling corridor full of other Vocaloids and staff members. Rooms and other corridors branched off every now and then.

"Welcome to the factory floor," quipped Luka with a sarcastic smirk. "Our chief export is songs here."

"You … _we_ make music?"

"Yep," she replied. "Come on, and stay close; it's easy for newbies to get lost here."

She set off at a brisk pace, nodded and waving at various other Vocaloids. It seemed as though she navigated by smell or some sixth sense; there were no signs or indicators of organisation. "We have storage, instrument workshops, recording, editing, production and publishing here, as well as an extensive historical archive."

"They ruined my death … to play music?" Henry asked incredulously.

Luka led him into an empty room that looked like a recording studio. "Think of it like this: The Company didn't ruin your death, they gave you a second life. Is making music for them too much to ask?"

Henry shrugged.

"Whatever. This is your studio. Your other facilities are connected. The archives are public, essentially." She grabbed a mic on a stand from the corner and set in front of him.

Henry stared at it as though it had done a backflip and started barking. "You … you want me to sing?"

"Preferably. We've got to make you get used to performing, after all."

"Anything specific?"

"Whatever comes from the heart."


	3. VOiCE

_**Absoltheharbinger here. Just to stay on the safe side with this chapter, here's a disclaimer. I do not own Vocaloid, Higurashi no Naku Koro ni, Yowane Haku, Namine Ritsu, Honne Dell, 'Rest In Peace', 'VOiCE' or anything else. Those honours go to Yamaha, 07th Expansion, CAFFEIN, Joss Whedon and Lovely-P respectively. And yes, I am going to name every chapter from here on out after Vocaloid songs.**_

_**Song of the Chapter - VOiCE by Hatsune Miku - watch?v=SR_6aEhCnmk**_

* * *

**_Track 3 – VOiCE_**

Henry took a deep breath. He didn't like this. It felt like exploitation. But Luka wanted him to. Luka must know better than him. She must have been through it too, after all.

"_I died … so many years ago-o_

_ But you can't make me feel like that isn't so-o_

_ So why're you coming to be with me?_

_ I think I fin'lly know._

_Hmm-mmm …_

_ 'Cos you're scared, ashamed of what you feel_

_ And you can't tell the ones you love;_

_ You know they couldn't deal._

_So whisper in a dead man's ear, but that don't make it real._

_ Well, that's great … but I don't wanna pla-ay,_

_ 'Cos being with you touches me more than I can say_

_ But since I'm only dead to you, I'm sayin' stay away_

_And let me rest in peace!_

_ Let me rest in peace! Let me get some sleep!_

_ Let me take this love and bury it in a ho-ole six foot deep!_

_ I can lay my body down, but I can't find my sweet release,_

_So let me rest in pea-eace …_

_ Y'know, you got a willing sla-ave,_

_ And you just love to play the part that you might misbehave,_

_ But until you do what I'm telling you: stop visitin' my grave,_

_To let me rest in peace!_

_ Now, I know … I should go-o,_

_ But I'm following you like a man possessed,_

_ There's a traitor here; it's within my chest,_

_ And it hurts me more than you've ever guessed,_

_ Well, if my heart could beat?_

_ It would break my chest!_

_ But I can see … you're unimpressed …_

_So leave me be,_

_ And let me rest in peace! Let me get some sleep!_

_ Let me take this love and bury it in a ho-ole six foot deep!_

_ I lay down my tired bones, by where's my sweet release?_

_ Just let me rest in peace! Why won't you_

_ Let me rest in peace? Please say you'll_

_ Let me rest … in … peace …_"

"Whoa," said Luka. "I'll admit you aren't perfect, but it's sounding pretty good. Considering what you did when you found out the truth, you're already getting the hang of this."

Henry didn't answer. He heard movement around the area of the open door. He lobbed his head round the corner to see who was there … and was slapped hard in the face.

"Ow …" he said, before looking at his assailant. He heard a gasp and someone frantically apologising in Japanese. It was the white-haired girl from earlier.

"Are you alright?" she asked. Her accent was similar to Miku's, but deeper and more mature. Her figure was slim to the point of starved, with slightly tanned skin. She wore a short, grey, sleeveless shirt that bared her midriff and was unbuttoned to her ample chest. She also wore an ink-blue tie very loose, as though she'd started taking it off but couldn't be bothered to finish. Her 'Vocaloid's sleeves' were black and trimmed with the same indigo, her nails the same. She wore glossy black trousers that were too long for her, and scuffed white trainers. It was her face, however, that was the most interesting.

Her features were some bizarre combination of gaunt and healthy, giving her a drawn, exhausted look. Her cheekbones were subtly prominent, emphasising her hollow cheeks further. Her eyes were half-closed, as though she was about to nod off where she stood. There were dark bags under her eyes; it was clear she hadn't been sleeping well lately. Her white hair ran almost to her ankles, and was tied back with a large, black-and-blue silk bow. Her bangs framed her forehead drawing attention her startlingly red eyes, like small pools of blood.

"I'm fine," Henry said, looking back into the studio. Luka had just gone into an adjoining room, but to be safe, he shut the door behind him. "I'd be a bit of a rubbish guy if I couldn't take a slap every now and then. I'm sorry, but I don't know your name."

"Oh," said the girl, blushing furiously. Her cheeks flushed almost as red as her eyes. "My name is Yowane Haku." She bowed again, although it seemed to be an attempt to stop him seeing her blush.

"So you're Yo … _Haku_. I'm Henry. I believe we ran into each other earlier."

Haku nodded furiously, as though afraid of what she might say if she opened her mouth.

"Tell me, Haku; why were you snooping around outside?"

Haku, if it was actually possible, blushed harder. "I-I'm sorry! I h-heard that you were doing some p-practise, and I o-only wanted to s-see if you were good! Forgive me!"

Henry decided to stop teasing her; Haku was clearly in a state of minor distress. "Haku …" he said slowly.

"If you l-like, I'll j-just go."

"Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to come in. Unless you had anything more important to do?"

Haku hesitated, but shook her head. "If … if it's not any trouble … I would like that very much."

"Come in," said Henry, stepping out of the way of the door to allow her access. She was acting as he would expect a small furry animal to; as though the merest movement could spell her doom.

"Okay, Henry; I've prepped your user and …" said Luka, walking back in. She took one look at Haku and her expression darkened. "What's _she_ doing here?"

"I invited Haku in. Why?"

Haku gulped audibly. "I guess I'll just be off," she said, inching towards the door.

Henry, however, made to stop her, staring at Luka sternly. "Hang on a minute. What is wrong with Haku being here?"

"I'm not saying with _her_ here."

It's fine, Henry-san, I'm going now."

"Haku, _wait_. If you've got an issue with her, Luka, you can tell her to her face. There is nothing I hate more than someone who insults another behind their back."

"FINE!" yelled Luka, irritation as clear as day. "Haku's a lazy, boring, selfish, drunken loner bitch. Happy?"

Haku looked as though someone had punched her. Tears began to stream from her eyes. But her expression was hard; defiant. "Happy, Miss Drag-Queen? Why don't you tell the new kid the rest? Drunk, am I? Meiko drinks as much as I do, but I don't see you slagging _her_ off!"

"Shut up, Voyaki-whore!" screamed Luka. That was a final straw for Haku … and Henry. Haku visibly shattered, the defiance gone and replaced with infinite sadness. Henry, however, bristled.

"I've heard enough! Look, we're all in the same boat here. Can't we all work together without the insult for two hours?"

Neither Haku nor Luka seemed particularly thrilled by this idea, but Henry's temper was clearly rising, and Luka was especially wary of his rage.

Dinnertime came quick for the busy Vocaloids. Haku and Luka, naturally, were still refusing to talk to one another. Haku, it transpired, was rather good with an acoustic guitar, and had rushed off to grab hers after hearing his song, improvising some chords on the fly. Luka had started reworking his lyrics for a duet, which she recommended. Henry merely took it in his stride. She was clearly the expert here.

Luka still had some clearing up to do in the studio. Henry thanked her for her help, and headed off to the cafeteria. He heard trainers slapping on the steel floor behind, and turned to see Haku running up to him.

"Henry-san … I just wanted … to say …"

"Don't mention it. Like I said; we're all in the same boat, aren't we?"

He thumbed the button to summon the lift. Haku stared at her feet. "Ano … Henry-san?"

"Yes, Haku?"

"Are you going to get some dinner?"

"Yeah; I'm starving."

"C-can I join you?" Haku asked, blushing furiously again. Henry pretended not to notice her awkwardness.

"Sure. You don't normally eat with anyone?"

Haku shook her head gloomily. "Thank you, Henry-san …"

Henry decided to avoid Luka at dinner. Which sadly also meant avoiding Miku and Kaito; his only other real 'friends' in this strange world. He and Haku got the same; an array of sushi. Henry sat opposite Haku on her usual table near the back of the cafeteria.

"Henry-san?" she asked timidly.

"Just call me Henry, please."

"H-Henry, can I ask you a question?"

"You just did, Haku."

Haku looked down, slightly upset. Henry realised she didn't get the joke.

"I'm sorry, Haku. What was it you wanted to ask?"

Haku gulped, as though it was going to be difficult to ask him what was on her mind. "Well … I … I wanted to know … canIbeyourfriendplease?"

"Sorry? Slow down, Haku."

Haku blushed. Henry noticed that she seemed to do that a lot around him. "Can … can I be your friend, please?"

Henry was taken aback. Her urgency and hesitance made him think it was something deeply secret or embarrassing. Maybe she was just a very shy person. "Yeah, sure, Haku."

"You mean it?" she asked, her eyes lighting up.

"Yeah; you seem like a nice person, and you don't seem to have many people to talk to."

"Thank you! Thank you so much, Henry!" She made to hug him, but stopped herself at the last minute. Henry was glad to see that, at least, she was smiling.

"Don't sweat."

Haku stared at her plate, breaking eye contact. "I d-don't have any f-f-friends here. Not really. Except …"

"Hey, Baku!" drawled a voice from behind Henry. It belonged to a young man wearing a grey shirt, indigo tie, black trousers and grey trainers, with black-and-indigo sleeves. His hair was silver; fairly long and spiky at the front, with a short ponytail at the back. His eyes were like chips of garnet.

"How many times have I asked you not to call me that?" mumbled Haku, not looking at him.

"Whatever. Who's your friend?"

"Henry Parkinson. New kid."

"'Sup, Parkinson?" asked the newcomer. His voice was thick and greasy, and he smelled strongly of nicotine. Henry was suddenly and forcibly reminded of a portly corpse strung from the trees, but the memory soon vanished. Henry wouldn't have been surprised if the man had lung cancer. If he even had lungs, which Henry doubted. "So you're hangin' out with Baku now, are you?"

"Yeah," said Henry.

"You a Voyakiloid?"

Henry faltered. What the hell was a Voyakiloid? Was that like Vocaloid? "I'm … not sure."

The Voyakiloid, as Henry assumed he was, pulled a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket, lit it and took a long drag. "I suggest you decide soon. That, or stop hangin' with Baku. Your choice."

He sauntered off. Henry couldn't help but get the impression that he'd just been threatened. He turned back to Haku. "Who was that?"

She looked up at him, face somewhat grim. "He's Honne Dell. He's possibly the closest I have to a friend in this place. Aside you, of course."

"Hardly seems very friendly."

"That should give you some idea on what the others are like." Haku popped the last of her sushi in her mouth, getting to her feet. She was smiling again. "I'll be in the bar if you want me. See ya, Henry!"

Henry finished his own meal about five minutes later. He placed his tray on the pile and made to leave, but felt a hand on his shoulder holding him back. He turned to find Miku staring sternly up at him. There was something vaguely sinister in the way she observed him. Then he noticed something peculiar; he could almost see Haku in Miku's features. Were the two related?

"Hey, Henry-kun."

"Hi, Miku. Did you want something?"

"Yeah, I did." The girl sounded so weird when she was serious. "You've been hanging around with Yowane Haku, haven't you?"

"Yes. What of it?"

"Don't. That girl is bad news."

"She seemed nice enough to me."

"She's a Voyakiloid. They're all rotten to the core."

"I don't believe you. Haku's a good person."

"She's gone to the bar, hasn't she?"

"Yeah."

"Go there. See for yourself."

Miku walked away, but Henry heard her say in a low voice "it would be wise to forget we had this chat." Henry was baffled, but left quickly. He walked right into Namine Ritsu on the way out, so absorbed was he in his thoughts. It was like walking into a lamp-post; solid and unyielding despite his/her slight frame.

"Watch where you're going, newb!" Ritsu snapped, before bustling off, muttering under his/her breath.

Henry began to wonder if anything in this place would surprise him any longer.

That was when he reached the bar.

The interior of the Loading Bar was thick and hazy, possibly because there were a group of technicians at a nearby table smoking heavily with Dell. Henry fought his way to the bar, where a heavyset, bald man with an impressive pair of mutton chops was polishing a glass.

"G'devenin'!" he said in a gruff, yet welcoming voice. "What can I get for ya?"

"Have you seen Yowane Haku? I was told I could find her here."

"Yer lookin' for Baku? Yeah, she's in the back corner. Poor girl."

Henry followed the barman's instruction. Haku was lolling on a table alternately groaning and giggling weakly. She was surrounded by pint glasses and half-full bottles of all manner of spirits and moonshines. She was clearly as drunk as a lord.

"Haku?"

"Whuzzamadda?" she slurred, blinking and looking around. She saw Henry leaning over the table. "Oh; 'syouu Henry. Youwanna Haku's Moon Speshhhull?"

"Haku's Moon Special?"

"Yeah," she said, with a grin that didn't suit her. "You ged one part vodka, one part lemonomemonade and a shot of sake. Serve with lotsa ices. You want?"

Henry looked at the array of bottles. "By the looks of things, I'd say you'd had enough for one night. How did you drink all this in five minutes?"

"Dun' feel so good …" Haku mumbled, falling face-first into the puddle of spilled liquor on the tabletop.

Henry tried to help get the girl upright again. Haku stared drunkenly up at him … and promptly vomited all down her front.

"Time for bed, I think," he said, wrinkling his nose instinctively. However, the sick didn't smell that bad; it smelled like charcoal mixed with whatever the hell Haku had just been drinking. Nonetheless, it was undignified for her. Henry began to wonders the merits of his earlier decision to hang around with her, but a promise was a promise. He tucked one of his arms in the crook of her knees, the other under her shoulders, braced, and lifted. He was surprised, for a robot, Haku was very light. He carried her to the bar.

"I'm taking her to her room. I think she's had enough fun for one night."

"Rather you than me," quipped the barman. Henry strode out of the bar, the drunken Voyakiloid in his arms starting to doze off.

He returned not thirty seconds later. "By the way, where _is_her room?"

Haku's room was spartan, but not barely furnished. The metal walls were unpainted, but she had blue-tacked up posters of several bands, some of which he recognised. Evanescence and Marilyn Manson he knew of, but there were others he suspected were from his future. The bed wasn't made, and there was a dark blue (ripped) bean bag and a leather office swivel chair, and a small bookshelf with books from the facility library hung from the wall. Henry saw titles like Harry Potter and Mortal Engines. Kid's books.

Henry laid Haku on the bed. It had, of all things, Toy Story bedding. It was then that Henry realised that Haku was really quite a sweet girl. He tried to ignore the bunny slippers tucked at the corner of the bed that had clearly seen a lot of use.

Henry had, however, hit a slight snag. Haku couldn't sleep in those soiled clothes, but she was also not in any fit state to remove them. Henry also couldn't remove them himself, because that would be … wrong. The dilemma raged in Henry's head. What to do … what to do …

He decided to help, but keep his eyes shut. He slowly pried the buttons of her shirt open, feeling something lacy going around her back that made him want to sigh with relief. _At least she isn't going commando_.

He slipped her shirt and tie off as quickly as he could, Haku mumbling sleepily something about sake. He willed her not to take this all the wrong way. Shoes, trousers, sleeves … soon all of it was gone. Henry couldn't take the urge any longer, and opened his eyes just a pinch.

Haku lay on the duvet skin shining softly in the fluorescent glow of the arc tube overhead. She didn't seem to have any hair on her body other than her head (though he wasn't about to check) either, so the smoothness of her artificial skin was like glass. Her underwear was simple, white with a lace trim. Haku's eyes also happened to choose that moment to slide lazily open, like a cat when surveying the area for intruders. A cheeky smirk formed on her lips.

"See something you like?" she asked in a sultry way, wiggling her body so as to show as much off as possible. Her words fell on his ears like warm honey, and Henry was forced to look away. All the same, strange thoughts floated to the top of his mind … Haku, so innocent and fragile …

_Don't think about that don't think about that don't think about that …_

He turned his back, mind racing. He shouldn't take advantage of Haku. She was drunk, her inhibitions were down, and … and he was only just a friend of hers. Did he really want to become something more so soon, or worse, betray her trust? He didn't feel ready to deal with that.

"It'ssss okay, y'know," Haku purred into his ear, resting her hands on his shoulders. Henry shivered; there was no gust of breath on his face as she spoke. Something he would have to get used to, sooner or later. "I don't mind. I'll hold you close, Henry. I'll break you in, if that is what you want …"

"No!" Henry snapped, getting up. She recoiled in surprise. "Haku, I … I don't want to take advantage of your drunkenness!" He began to head for the door. "I … I'll see you tomorrow, Haku. Good night."

"Wait!" she cried. She'd clearly dropped the seductive tone, sounding both more natural and pleading. "Can I … can I ask a favour of you? It's g-gonna sound really childish, but …"

"What?"

"Can you read me a bedtime story?"

Henry spun around, startled by the randomness of the request. Haku had dropped the sexy act altogether, looking at him with eyes that would make a puppy jealous. Just old _was_ this girl, at once so mature yet juvenile?

Then again, what harm could it do? He pulled the duvet out from under her and tucked her in. Haku looked so young, tucked into her Toy Story sheets and gazing at him with a childish wonder and expectance. It was hard to keep reminding himself that he wasn't her older brother or babysitter or something. He plucked _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ from the small bookshelf and opened it to the first page.

"Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were very proud to say that they were very normal indeed, thank you very much …"

Henry closed the book. It was a long time later when he decided to call it a night. Haku had clearly enjoyed the story; she'd loved his voices, from gruff Mr Dursley to the hiss of the snake. She was still giggling after the letters incident. It was clearly one of her favourites. The thing was Henry felt happier having read it too. A small dose of a life less complicated.

"I'll read you some more later; I've got my own bed to go to."

"No!" she cried out, grabbing his sleeve. "Please stay here. Please?"

"Haku, if I get caught …"

"No-one's ever been caught while I've been here. Please, Henry; I feel safe with you here."

Henry didn't want to get into any more trouble that day, but something Haku had said had touched him through his cold, dispassionate exterior. Who would know? "Fine, Haku. I'll stay here for tonight."

"You'll stay by my side?"

"All night long."

Henry clicked off the light. Haku nodded off almost immediately, as though the alcohol had finally taught her who was boss. Henry stared at her, surprised at how well he could see in the dark now. It was weird how human and at the same time artificial she seemed. There was no gentle rise and fall of the chest, but she still fidgeted slightly in her sleep. Henry wondered what she dreamed of. Her old life? Friends? Family?

"She's pretty," said a small voice behind him.


	4. End of the World

_**... And this is the last of the major interactions with Higurashi: Broken Chains arc. The two will still be linked, but I used this chapter to clean up the loose ends. Song of the Chapter - End of the World by Nagone Mako (original by Kasane Teto) - watch?v=bj_YveDurf4. I do not own this song, by the way.**_

* * *

Henry jumped, looking around. The lilac-haired girl with horns stood behind him.

"What do you want, Oyashiro-sama?" snapped Henry quietly.

"Hauuu~," quailed the 'deity', fiddling with her fingers. "There's no need to be like that!"

"Sorry, but … what are you doing here?"

"Rika sent me to find you. There's still something she needs you to see."

"What do you mean?"

"The flowers of fate bloom and die. But yours has not yet fully withered."

"What do you mean, Oyashiro-sama? Everybody's dead now."

"Just call me Hanyuu. And not _everyone_."

"_What_?"

The room dissolved, reconstructing a boring terraced street of three-storey houses. Henry recognised the chipped red paint on the wall at the front of what could charitably be called a garden and the bay window of the corner house.

"This is … my house?"

"Yes."

"But who …?"

His question was answered by the arrival of a taxi cab pulling into the narrow street. It parked at the side of the road, and a tall, slim person climbed out of the back, and handed a couple of banknotes in to the driver.

"The one on the corner?" Henry heard them ask, before the driver cab zoomed off.

"Fine; don't help me," they muttered. "_Baka_."

They walked closer to Henry and Hanyuu. Henry could tell it was a teenage girl, with long green hair and piercing green eyes. She wore a white sleeveless turtleneck and grey skirt. Her name was Sonozaki Shion. And clutched to her chest was a large porcelain urn. Henry noticed the cicada pattern.

"Shion!" cried Henry, amazed to see that she was alive, as she began to walk solemnly towards them. She gave no indication of having heard him. In fact, she walked right _through_ him. It was a very weird sensation; he felt nothing, but could see her walk through him.

"You're not a part of this world anymore, remember?" reminded Hanyuu. "You're little more than a ghost now."

Shion rang the doorbell. A smallish boy with short blond hair answered the door excitedly. He looked the visitor up and down and the excited look vanished slightly.

"Who are you?" he asked bluntly.

"Is Parkinson Joy-san there?" asked Shion politely in her best English, with a strained attempt at a smile.

"William, don't be so rude," chided a woman who came into the lobby at that moment. She was quite short; a couple of inches shorter than Shion, with a worn, motherly sort of face. "Hello, can I help you?" she said, ushering William back inside.

Shion bowed respectfully. "I am sorry for arriving so unexpectedly, Parkinson-san. My name is Sonozaki Shion. May I come in? We need to talk."

"Sure; come in, Miss Sonozaki." Joy Parkinson stood back, allowing Shion to cross the threshold of the house.

"Please," replied Shion, walking in and habitually pulling off her trainers. "Call me Shion. I wanted to talk to you … about Parkinson Henry-kun."

Henry, who had walked through the now-closed door, noticed that Shion had changed. Her swagger was gone, as was her cocky tone. Proud Shion; she walked with her head bowed and her eyes down. A lot of what made her _Shion_ was gone. What was left seemed stunted and deadened.

_What have I done?_ He thought to himself.

"Mum, why's she got green hair?" asked William, as Shion was led into the adjoining living/dining room.

"William, stop being rude," hissed Joy.

"It's okay," said Shion with a feeble attempt at a laugh. "Mother's bloodline had a genetic mutation that gave her green pigments. We like to joke that it's oni blood."

"Oni … blood?" asked a confused Joy, not getting the cultural reference.

"Never mind."

They sat at the large dining table. Shion felt uncomfortable; chairs reminded her too much of school, and she would rather kneel on the floor as was the custom back home. But it would be rude to decline. Shion perched on the chair, setting the small urn on the tabletop. "Parkinson-san, I _had_ to come. I'm one of Henry-kun's friends from Hinamizawa."

"We haven't heard from him yet, you know. I guess the letters are lost in the post or something."

"Yes, international post is not very fast. But I am afraid that Henry-kun will not be saying much more to you."

"What do you mean, Shion?" asked Henry's mother, confused and indignant.

Shion gulped. This was the bit she was most afraid of doing. "I am so sorry, Parkinson-san, but something terrible has happened in Hinamizawa. Henry-kun … he didn't make it."

She told them everything. The curse, the festival, the murders, Henry's battle with himself, and his final self-hanging.

"You'd think she would have mentioned the disaster," mused Henry.

"She doesn't know of that yet," explained Hanyuu. "It started after she got on the plane to England."

Henry's mother seemed at a loss for words. "Henry's … dead …?" she asked in a small voice. Henry had never seen her brought so low by anything before.

Shion laid a comforting hand on the older woman's shoulder. "Henry may be gone, and he may have been a murderer, and he may have slaughtered innocent people, but his last act was to fight back against his madness. To save us all. He paid his own life to save us, and for that I am truly grateful." Shion picked up the urn and offered to Joy. "In Japan, we bury some of the deceased's ashes at the local shrine, and the rest is given to the family and friends for family shrines. Well, I don't know if you guys have family shrines, but we felt you deserved these more than we do anyway. He _was_ your son, after all."

"So, he went mad, did he?" asked Joy, taking the urn gratefully.

"Something evil awoke in him. There was nothing we could have done."

"He never did like to lose much."

Hanyuu tapped Henry on the shoulder. "Let's fast-forward a little."

They were suddenly in an airport in Japan. There was a heated argument going on nearby. It was Shion, arguing with the customs officer.

"What do you mean, _quarantined_?!"

"Ma'am, Hinamizawa is officially off-limits. Military order. No-one is allowed in or out of that village."

"Why not? I am one of the Sonozaki family!"

"I understand, Sonozaki-san, but no-one means _no-one_. There has been some kind of toxic gas eruption."

"Toxic … gas?" asked Shion, faltering, incomprehension all over her face.

"There have been no confirmed survivors, so that means it is highly lethal."

"I … I see. Thank you, oji-sama." Shion strode off; aware she couldn't leave the airport, she made for a nearby café. Henry couldn't see what she was doing, but she went into the kitchens. Even more curiously, she left seconds later, and Henry caught the flash of something metal. Worried, he ran after her, leaving Hanyuu behind. She ran into a public toilet, head bowed. But she didn't take a cubicle.

Instead, Shion stood in front of one of the tall mirrors, leaning on the porcelain sink for support. She was shaking, and the light had faded from her face, so that if she looked ill before, she looked positively deathly now. Something suddenly pulled Henry into the mirror that Shion was staring dully at.

The mirror was dark on the inside, as though an infinitely large black room. Bright lights like windows punctuated the darkness, as though windows to the bathroom mirrors.

"Inside the mirror is the only way you can communicate with her now. She can't hear me, though; only you."

Henry stared at Hanyuu. "Why are you doing all this for me?"

"You … deserve closure. I'll explain in a moment."

Shion started to cry; great, fat tears rolling from her eyes as she finally released her dammed-up emotion. Henry, startled by the sudden display, leaned on the 'window' frame as though a lifeline. Shion was such a tough person; it broke his heart to see her reduced to a lonely, snivelling wreck in an airport toilet.

"Why did it have to come to this?" she moaned in between sobs. "First Satoshi, then Henry, then my friends and family, now my _home_ has been taken away from me? How much more do want from me?"

"Shion!" cried Henry. "Hang in there!"

Henry?" she gasped, looking up at him with her bedraggled, defeated face. No, that was wrong; she had _heard_ his voice, but she could only see the broken ace in the mirror.

"Shion, you are still alive! Don't throw that away!"

"Henry … you words reach from beyond the grave … but how?"

"Just keep on living, Shion! Please! Don't die on me!" Henry was aware of his own tears falling, as though he was slowly becoming Shion's reflection.

"But what for?" she muttered with a rueful chuckle. "You gave your life to save ours, Henry. Look what it all came to; me, alone in an airport bathroom. No friends. No home. No hope. No future."

"Shion, please!" begged Henry. For a second, he could have sworn she actually saw him in the mirror.

"I'm sorry, Hen-chan. But I've failed you." Shion pulled something from the waistline of her skirt. It was a sharp kitchen knife. She must have stolen it earlier.

"Shion, no!"

Shion stabbed herself in the gut, screeching like a banshee in pain as crimson life-blood splattered onto the tiled floor. Soon, though she began to laugh weakly, panting.

"I know now, Henry. What you must have endured, watching your own hands murder."

"Stop it, Shion! Don't do it!"

"My … my throat …"

"What?!"

"My throat … it itches …"

"SHION!"

Too late. Shion frantically started scraping at her pale throat like her life depended on it.

"I'm so sorry, Henry," she whispered. "Maybe … we'll see each other again someday?"

Henry could only watch in horror as her fingers began to turn red; shredded skin clogging manicured nails. A gaping, ragged hole, where she had torn her windpipe.

Shion collapsed, fainting from pain or blood or oxygen loss, dark blood pooling like a crimson halo. At the same time, a girl slowly dissolved into view next to him and Hanyuu; the (now not mutilated) Sonozaki Shion.

Henry grabbed her tight and cried into her shoulder. He knew he should be happy to see her again, but he also knew that she was now dead. The girl felt solid, but he wasn't even sure about the rules of life or death anymore. "Why .. why did you do it, Shion?"

"Henry?" she gasped. "Wow, you look … different."

"I guess," he said, letting her go as Hanyuu moved forward to join them.

"I feel so cold …" mumbled Shion. "Is this what death is like?"

"So it would seem."

"Much as it pleases me to see you happy," interrupted Hanyuu, "it's time to go. Shion needs to go to the new fate."

"New … fate?" Henry asked. "What does that mean?"

"Hinamizawa is a pocket of temporal flux. The timeline is … odd; it resets every time Rika dies. And Shion needs to be there."

"And what of me? You expect me to go back to that pitiful false afterlife?" growled Henry. "That isn't my place! I need to be with you guys in Hinamizawa … in a world where I'm not hated and feared …"

"But Henry, have you not found something to fight for back there?" said Hanyuu.

"What do you mean? There is nothing for me there!"

"What about that girl?"

Henry was struck dumb. He'd almost forgotten about Haku in the whole Shion episode.

"I'm sorry, Parkinson-san. It is where you belong. I cannot decide on this matter."

Shion stared at the short deity. "Will Henry be in this new world?"

"I cannot say. The flowers of fate are fickle and unpredictable. He may, he may not."

"But will I remember him?"

"It is highly unlikely that you will truly remember this life. You will feel as though you had never met Henry Parkinson. Do remember that Parkinson-san was an anomaly to begin with; it is very rare that any others than the regular cast are featured in this cycle."

"So …" said Shion turning back to Henry. "I guess … this is goodbye."

"Don't be like that, Shion. I might be in this new fate, too."

Shion laughed through her tears. "You heard whatsername …"

"Hanyuu," corrected the deity. "Though I'm Oyashiro to _you_."

"You heard Oyashiro-sama. The odds are low. And either way, I will never have known you."

"Then I shall remember you for both of us, Shion. I … I don't want to lose you again. Not like this."

"Don't worry yourself. Besides, from what I heard, you've got someone else now."

"It's not what it sounds like."

"Relax. I'm happy for you. If you spend your whole life looking back, you'll only miss what is in front of you. I don't know who this girl is, or how you know her, but please do me a favour. Love her for me … for the love we couldn't share." Shion pecked Henry on the cheek, recoiling almost instantly at the alien feel of his silicone skin and cold artificial flesh.

"So long, Henry."

Henry bowed. "So long, Shion. I guess it was fun knowing you. While it lasted."

"Maybe we might meet again?"

"Maybe," said Henry with a sad nod. Hanyuu drew a small lump of iridescent amber crystal from the folds of her kimono.

"It is time to go," said Hanyuu. "Henry, I'm sorry. It was my interventions that caused you to become a monster. You might have felt me try … but I was too weak."

"Take care of the gang, Oyashiro-sama."

Hanyuu and Shion suddenly turned to fine dust; the golden pollen of fate's fragile flowers.

Gone forever.

"No!" gasped Henry, opening his eyes. He was still in Haku's bedroom. She was fast asleep, looking so fragile in her slumber. Like the merest touch would shatter her into pieces.

Henry had never felt lower. Not when he had woken from death, not when he realised that he was merely some company's robot plaything, not even when he realised that Hinamizawa was dead. The one person he had most wanted to save, and she had only gone and got herself killed!

But it was no good whining about it all. He had a second chance, after all. He had better use it well.

He looked again at the slumbering Voyakiloid. She had it hard, he decided. She wasn't wanted by the others. She was lonely and miserable. And Shion had told him to look after the albino for her.

_I'll look after you, Yowane Haku. I'll look after you like I couldn't look after my old friends_.

Haku woke up late, groaning as the pain-sim filled her head with fake hangover. What _had_ she done last night? She remembered feeling … happy. Euphoric, even. The happiest she had felt for many years, certainly. But … why? What was there in her cold void of a life to make her feel so?

Then she remembered the newbie. Henry … that was his name, wasn't it? She remembered his kind words the previous day, how accepting he'd been of her. No-one was like that. Not even Dell. Did he actually … like her? Haku blushed slightly. That was … nice of him. But he knew that she was a drunkard; she remembered him carrying her from the bar in an alcoholic daze. Him putting her in bed. Her trying to make him … What was she _thinking_? How drunk _was_ she?

But he had declined her 'offer'. He had actually _refused_. That also surprised her. Even _Len_, for all his innocence, wouldn't hesitate to screw someone senseless if he could get away with it. So why was this newbie so different?

She looked around the room, getting up. Her 'vomit'-stained clothes from last night were gone, a clean black silk kimono lay folded on the beanbag nest that filled the floor and had clearly been slept in. There was a note folded up on top of that:

_Haku,_

_ Gone to grab some breakfast. Kimono was the only clean thing in your wardrobe. I put the dirty stuff in the wash for you. You need to remember to do it yourself in future. Don't sleep in too late; I wanted to do some more work on our song today._

_ Henry_

Haku blinked. Was she really that sloppy? She decided that it would be a good time to go downstairs; it was nearly eleven o' clock, and she needed some kind of nourishment if she was going to stay awake.

Henry was still in the cafeteria, sipping his tea, when Haku wandered in, hesitant as a small furry animal of some sort. It was surprising still how different she was drunk to when she was sober.

And she looked, for want of a better word, _stunning_. The black silk shone in the fluorescent glow of the arc tubes above, indigo flowers and vines seemingly glowing as though lit from inside the material. The whole thing was a work of art. Goodness knew where she got such a garment from.

"M-m-morning," stammered Haku, bowing low.

"Please cease with the formality, Haku," said Henry with a laugh. "It makes me feel uneasy. We're friends, not estranged relatives or something."

Haku blushed, but she smiled weakly. Henry was secretly pleased to see that. It seemed all she needed was to have a friend to support her. But Henry felt good for it, too. He'd never been able to help anyone much before. To see his efforts pay off was enough to light something in his cold, cynical heart.

_I guess we're good for each other_.


End file.
